Of Curious Intent
by Tsubasa504
Summary: Deadpool was just enjoying another night out in New York city when he ran into something young and dressed in red. His curiosity has certainly been piqued.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a little one-shot on Deadpool setting his eyes on a new price. I really like Deadpool. Maybe I like his character a little too much. But let me know what you all think, I really love reviews.**

Of Curious Intent

The constant sound of passing sirens and the loud never stopping honking were two things Deadpool loved about New York. There was something rather artistic in it, something fundamentally human. The hateful yells and loud honks of the impatient and the screeching sirens of emergency vehicles, which so greatly represented the perilousness of human mortality. The weakness of humankind could so easily be shown through sound alone.

Even their screams were rather musical, Deadpool thought as he pushed his blade deeper into the shoulder of the man before him. So much screaming, and a little bit of begging. Deadpool liked both those sounds. Now, where had the other two gone off to?

With a swift pull, he drew his blade out and flicked the blood off, letting it splatter all over the dark and dingy alley wall. Turning, he headed back out, whistling happily to himself and ignoring the man currently drowning to death as his lungs filled with blood.

"Come out, come out wherever you are～" he sang out happily as he took a few light springs and scaled the building before him. Up here the air seemed fresher and he gulped the air in as if he had been a dying man. Then took off jogging along the roof, calling out insults to the two pathetic men he was chasing. Though, not so much chasing, more like, instinctual following.

It didn't take him long to hear yelling and some very creative swearing. That was definitely his guy. He laughed happily as he jumped to another building and practically fell off the roof as he leaned over to get a better look down into the alley where—lucky him—both the men he was looking for were.

A bright red and black look alike was there as well, and he tilted his head in contemplation. Eyes zeroing in on the clearly young figure. Slim and not at all carrying the muscular mass of a fully grown. The high pitched—adorable—voice that answered the men was another give away. Most likely a teenager. And wasn't that just cute.

"You shouldn't carry weapons. That's against the law," the kid told them, voice filled with the self-assurance of someone reciting something they knew to be true. If only he'd come off as more assertive the two men might have taken him more seriously. "Turn yourselves in. It's the right thing to do."

"Shooting you, you little brat, is the right thing to do," one of the boring burly men answered, advancing towards the little red-y. However, the kid didn't seem scared. Not backing away an inch.

"I don't want to have to hurt you." Deadpool felt his interest in the little thing rise. Kid had spunk, and maybe a little bit of suicidal tendencies with the way he was allowing the men to get closer. Not that he had any right to judge others with his own rather impressive suicide record.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about us, kid," the man sneered back.

Deadpool felt a sharp smile tug on his lips. Oh, the man should definitely worry. Death was perched rather precariously over him after all.

The kid finally backed away some, raising his hand, and Deadpool watched, fascinated, as a web shot out and threw the man back and into the wall. Sticking him in place. The other man took the opportunity to attack, sprinting forward with both a knife and a gun in each of his hands. And the kid vaulted over his head with the agility of someone not quite human, and another web managed to dislodge the knife and send it clattering away. Gunshots followed, and even as he saw the kid jump back, he knew on of them had hit the target. The red little thing staggered, then straightened. The eyes on the kid's mask narrowing in pain.

"Hey now, no need for guns, mister criminal," the kid whined, hand coming up to support his left arm where he had gotten shot. "Guns kill people. And killing people is bad. You shouldn't do things like that."

The man that had shot sneered at those words, circling the kid and pushing him back towards were his other comrade was stuck to the wall. Deadpool could clearly see the man was working on getting himself free, left arm already raising with a gun. That was his cue. And he let himself drop from the roof right over the stuck man's body. Drawing the long swords on his back, he allowed the momentum to skewer the man below him. Giving none of the three any time to react or even realize he was there.

He smiled pleased with himself when the kid whipped around, and he just knew, that beneath the mask was a shocked face. It made him itch to tear the mask off and get a closer look. On the other hand, the man behind the kid only tightened his grip on the gun, determination written clear as day on his face. Best not give him time to react, Deadpool decided and let his swords sail passed the kid on either side and embed themselves into the man.

There. Mission completed, and all three bumbling idiots taken down. And he even saved a kid. Gosh, wasn't he just too good.

Stepping off the dead and bleeding corpse, he let his boots smack into the deep puddle of blood as he aimed for the kid. Who was currently stuttering, hands raised lovingly in surrender as he circled away from both the dead men; accidentally trapping himself against another alley wall.

Deadpool grinned happily, ignoring the dead bodies and followed the kid. Heart pounding in his chest as he watched him back himself against the wall.

"Um… Thank you for your help, but I could—"

He didn't give him time to stutter out more than that, leaning in and over him; caging him with his arms. "Oh, no worries. I enjoyed helping."

He could hear the kid swallow and knew that the eyes under the mask were trying to see over his shoulders at the downed men. It caused him to lean in more, completely covering the kid's vision. Watching satisfied as he twitched back, head connected with a loud thump against the wall.

"You shouldn't have killed them. I had already called the cops, mister…" the kid said, hesitant, fidgeting in place as he clearly wanted to duck under the arms around him. Deadpool just pressed his forearms harder to the wall and pushed a happy seeking knee between the tightly clad legs of the kid.

"Deadpool," he said as an introduction. "Though, you may call me whatever you want, little red."

"I'm Spider-Man," the kid managed to stutter out, and Deadpool's cheeks practically hurt with the pleased smile that took up his face.

"A little spider out patrolling the streets at night. You should be careful, there are all kinds of unsavory people out and about. And who knows, maybe you'll get caught in someone else's webs."

The little spider stuttered nervously, shoulders sinking. "Um, thanks for worrying but there really is no need. I am used to this."

This time he couldn't hold back the pleased laughter as he pressed himself up tight against the lithe little body. "Used to this?" he wondered, head tilting a little. The little spider sucked in a loud breath and shook his head back and forth frantically. Hands coming up to push against Deadpool's chest.

"What? No!" the kid shouted, mortified. Pushing with enough force to cause Deadpool to stumble back a step or two. "Thank you for saving me, mister Deadpool, but I really should be going."

That wouldn't do. The night had just started getting fun.

So, when the kid raised his hand, clearly intending to shoot out another web, he stepped forward and caught the hand. Feeling the sticky web catch like glue between their palms. He happily kept the kid's hand pinned high above his head as he leaned back in again.

"There's no need to be in such a hurry," he crooned, trailing his other hand over the masked cheek and searching for the opening by the neck. "We've just started to get to know each other."

"There—there really is no need to get to know each other more than this," the kid said. His left hand catching on Deadpool's trailing right one, gripping the wrist with far more force than a normal human could muster. It was also slippery and wet.

He hummed at that, eyes flickering to the strong grip on his wrist before focusing back on the little spider. "You're bleeding," he said, having completely forgotten about it. After all, wounds like that never bothered him for long, healing up before he had much time to even notice them.

The kid whimpered but held on. Tugging on his good arm which was glued fast to his own.

There was sound coming from the kid's mask that wasn't the little one's voice. Curious, he leaned in letting their noses bump together, enjoying the nervous thrum that vibrated through the kid.

"Who's talking to you?"

The kid turned his head, pushing his jaw down into his chest. "No one."

Humming, he narrowed his eyes, clearly able to hear a female voice. "You're girlfriend?"

The brat jumped and jerked his head back up, the mask's eyes actually widening. "What? No, Karen isn't my girlfriend."

"Karen? So, you are talking to someone. Tut, tut, whispering to someone else while there is someone in front of you. How rude."

"I—I wasn't…"

Deadpool just pushed in more, ignoring the tightening grip on his wrist. "How were you planning on making up for that rudeness?"

He must have startled the kid too much with his words, because the grip tightened hard enough to crush the bones in his wrist. Prompting the kid to let go, a horrified gasp escaping him as he took in the mangled wrist before him.

"Oh, my God. I am so sorry. I did not—I didn't mean to. Oh, my God," he whispered frantically. Breath fast and ragged, clearly close to hyperventilation. "I broke your wrist." He sounded like he had just killed someone's puppy.

Deadpool followed the kid's gaze to his own floppy wrist with a curious gaze. "No problems. I lot of people like breaking my wrists. Though, most don't apologize."

The little spider wasn't answering. Breathing still ragged and eyes trained on the wrecked hand. Grunting, Deadpool hide it behind himself. "You gonna faint?" he wondered, leaning back a little to take the kid in. "Not that I mind, but a heads-up is always nice. I'll make sure to take good care of you." Those words seemed to have done the trick for the kid stopped breath altogether. Then, shook his head and went back to trying to free his right hand.

"I'm really sorry. I'll—I'll make it up to you… or you know, pay your medical bill."

Well, now Deadpool was interested. "How were you planning to make it up to me?"

Stopping in his tugging, the kid spluttered and stuttered uncertainly. He was saved from having to say anything further as the loud piercing sounds of sirens neared them.

"Damn."

Grunting, he tugged the kid up and threw him over his shoulder as best as he could with his left hand still stuck and took of sprinting down the alley, jumping a high fence with barely any effort.

"What are you doing? Put me down!"

"Hold on, little spider. If we get caught, you'll be going to jail with me for murder."

"I won't. I'll tell them the truth." The kid hit him hard in the back with his injured arm, and Deadpool felt how is back muscles and ribs strained against the force. Damn, the kid was strong. "You'll be the one going to jail. Everyone knows that Spider-Man only helps the little guys. The police wouldn't believe I killed anyone. Besides I'm an Ave—"

Blinking, Deadpool looked at what he could see of the kid's covered head before focusing back on making his escape. "You're a what?"

"Never mind," the kid grumbled, quiet and low. The voice of someone trying to hide something. Deadpool could sniff that kind of stuff out from miles away.

"Uh-huh."

"What about your swords?" the kid wondered, and Deadpool felt himself come to screeching halt.

"Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit!"

"Language."

"You, little spider, better hope I don't squish you," he growled to the kid. "Damn it! Those are one of a kind. Special edition. No fucking way I'm letting them become property of the damn government. Better hold tight." He turned and sprinted back in the direction they had come. Ignoring the kids continued shouting.

The bodies were just where they had left them. One of them skewered like a shish kebab. Placing a boot against the downed guy, he pulled his swords out one at a time, wiping them as well as he could. The sirens were loud, but it seemed the cops hadn't found the correct alley just yet. It gave them time to get out of here. Hopefully, without getting caught. Holding his swords tight in his right hand, he took off again; this time jumping up on to the roof of a four-story building and running low across it. He felt the kid's right hand tighten against his leathered back. Nervous energy, clear as day, thrumming through the kid's body.

"Hey, brat. When does your sticky glue were off?"

The kid squirmed on his shoulder and he tightened his grip on him, careful not to skewer him with his swords. "Um… I have… I have a solvent that can be used. Otherwise, about two hours."

"Lucky that I think you're cute."

He could feel the kid sag against him. Tired. Most likely from blood lose.

Cursing, his eyes flicked up at the sound of helicopter blades and he took a sharp turn to barrel into an abandoned looking house. He had an idea of where to go. The kid needed medical attention and Deadpool just loved playing nurse.

The building wasn't that far from their little alley, but it was safe from the prying eyes of the cops. A six-story building that had probably never seen good days. There was a sewage smell to the area and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure. He tugged the cracked door open, not worried about being seen. In this area, people didn't report things to the cops. It was most likely a drug cartel that would get it, and then, Deadpool could have even more fun if they decided to come and check things out.

For now, though, he needed to treat his little spider. It seemed the brat had lost consciousness during their little run and now laid loose as a sack of potatoes over his shoulder.

He dumped the kid on a squeaky, yellow stained mattress and went to fetch something he could use to clean the wound. Sadly, having to peel his own glove off to get his left hand loose. Already mourning the warm contact as he made his way out of the room in search of supplies.

When he came back, the kid still laid sprawled and vulnerable on the bed. The image doing bad things for Deadpool as he took in the lithe little form dressed up in all tight spider suit.

"Bad, Deadpool. Down, Deadpool," he grumbled to himself as he sank down on the bed by the kid's hip. "Kid's probably jailbait. Better be careful or I'm gonna have to turn myself in for being pedophilic. And we wouldn't want that, would we? It would make Marvel look really bad if they screened a pedophilic anti-hero. Then, poor Ryan Reynolds would be out of a job and I wouldn't get to meet the cute little spider." Even as he was telling himself this, his bad, bad fingers were trailing themselves over a flat stomach and up the chest to feel along the throat. With a few insistent tugs he had the mask off. Head tilting as he took in the messy brown hair and slack, relaxed face of the slumbering teen.

"Yeah, definitely jailbait."

His eyes trailed down to the bleeding arm and grimaced at the blood that was pooling onto the bedsheets. "Guess I better get to work."

Tugging the arm out of the tight suit was a lot harder than he had thought it would be. The kid actually cried out in his sleep when he finally got the spandex-like sleeve over his gun wound. It was pretty clean. Went all the way through but was clearly taking its time healing. Not at all like Deadpool's own wounds.

At first, he thought he would have to sow the skin shut, but as he continued cleaning the blood away, he noticed that slowly but surely the wound was closing on its own. Not the super healing of himself, but clearly the healing of someone enhanced. He sat back to take the kid in, trailing his eyes over him again, but this time with a far more searching kind of look.

"Huh, you need to eat more kid. You'd probably heal up in no time. You're literally skin and bone. No wonder you were so weak." Grinning to himself he leaned into the relaxed face below him, taking in the smooth skin of the teenager. "Makes me want to fatten you up and see what you become. I always wanted a side-kick, after all."

The kid didn't answer. Still deep in the land of unconsciousness.

Deadpool cleaned up, throwing the bloody rags in a trash bag along with the towel he had used. Better burn the evidence he thought but didn't get a chance to do more than that before a high-powered whirling sound could be heard, fast approaching. Far too fast for him to do little else but dodge to the side. His window exploding inwards as the red form of Iron Man shot through. Hands lit up bright and ready, aimed right at him.

"That's my cue to book it," he said happily, arms held up as he backed away from the man that was now blocking his view of the kid.

"Stay where you are," the mechanic voice of Iron Man commanded. "You have a lot of explaining to do as to why my kid is bleeding out on your bed. And for that matter, why he is on your bed to begin with?"

"Hey now, I was just patching the little spider up. Didn't think he belonged to anyone already. Guess that explains his self-assurance," he said in return. Really not all that bothered about the guns aimed at him.

"Belongs to?" Iron Man sort of seethed. "The kid doesn't below to anyone. Certainly not someone like you." The bright light on his gloves intensifying as they charged with more energy.

"Wow now, papa bear. I'm getting out of your hair. Kid's just sleeping."

"You better hope I never see you close to him again," the man threatened, but made no move to apprehend Deadpool. So, with a last look in the kid's direction, he took a running leap and disappeared out the closest window. Staying only long enough to hear Iron Man dissemble his suit and make his way to the kid.

"Hey Peter. You awake, kid?"

Smiling, he stored the name away and let himself become one with the bright, artificially lit up lights of New York city.

"Let's meet again, Peter."

—V—V—

The kid had been spirited away, and for a few days there was no trace of either Spider-Man nor the boy who he had found out was called Peter Parker. The so-called intern of Stark Industries. Not that Deadpool believed an iota of that. There was a much deeper connection between those two, one that had nothing to do with an internship.

Deadpool didn't care overly much about that though: he gave no fucks about Tony Stark. It was the little Parker that he wanted.

That's why, barely a week after they had first run into each other, he could be found sitting on a rooftop just across from Midtown School of Science and Technology. His eyes roaming over the students as they came pouring out of the doors. Searching for a mop of messy brown hair.

And there he was, one hand on his backpack strap and dressed in loose, baggy clothing that hid that lovely little body from view. It might have been a week since they had last seen each other, but there was no way he would have forgotten what the kid looked like.

And maybe he was releasing a little bit of pleased killing intent as he was studying the kid. For large brown eyes soon meet his own. And even with this distance between them it was clear as day that they could both make out the other without any problems.

He tried to smile at the kid, but his mask got in the way, so he waved happily instead. Watching, fascinated, as the color in the kid's face drained and he turned tail and sprinted—without a word to his friend—down the street.

Hoping happily up on his feet, Deadpool pursued the kid. Heart pounding happily at the idea of a game of tag.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So, I've never had so hard writing a short story before as this chapter. I don't know how many times I re-wrote parts of it, and it didn't turn out at all like I had thought it would. So many things I thought would happen that just never did because I couldn't make it sound nice. I've spent the last four days just typing away and fixing things and changing parts and adding weird sections. And now, I'm kind of pleased with it, but at the same time a part of me feels I could have done so much better. So, sorry about that, but I hope you all enjoy it anyways.

This second chapter is for all of you guys who liked the first so much. Thank you for your kind reviews, and keep them coming!

 **Of Curious Intent 2**

Peter wished time could be rewinded; maybe he could go back, like, at least two weeks to just before that horrible day. A day he promised himself, this time, this time he would stay home. Lay on his bed, listen to music, maybe even call Ned. You know, teenage kind of stuff. No patrolling the city; no falling into the hands of— _shivering_ —dangerous, lunatic, not nice colored spandex clad men.

Something was out to get him now. Lurking just at the edge of his vision and barely close enough to raise his hackles and tingle his spider-senses. The times of reprieve between these moments were sadly short lived.

It had started last Friday: the day he had come back to school after getting shot. Mr. Stark had been so mad at him for that. Like, it totally hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to know he was going to get kidnapped by a weirdo? Not that Mr. Stark had cared for his excuses, he'd been grounded. Him! Spider-Man! _Ugh, life could be so totally unfair sometimes_.

Anyways, that day he had left school like usual, talking to Ned and contemplating the upcoming school project the two of them had together. A rather simple project; the problem was the amount of time they needed to have to work on it after school. And with his so-called Internship plus his Spider-Man duties, it was hard for him to get enough free time. Even so, they had been talking rather animatedly about what they would do and how they would present it when his spider-senses had gone hay-wire. Like live electricity shooting up and down his spine and sending the hairs on his body standing. It was probably how it would feel like to get hit by a bolt of lightning from Thor. Not that he wanted to get hit by a bolt of lightening by the God of Thunder, but if he did, that's probably what it would feel like.

He had, honest to God—ugh, Thor?—thought that the previous week's happening was like a one-time deal. He never thought he would see the man again. Hadn't particularly wanted to either. Yet there he sat, swinging long legs over the side of a tall building as if he was a child; body swaying gently to the sides. Mask or no mask, Peter knew the man's eyes were trained on him. There was nothing for him to hide behind; no hidden identity to protect him. Exposed, and more teenager than hero.

They both froze upon eye-contact, and time didn't start moving again until the man was happily waiving his fingers down at Peter as if they were long-time friends. It was a threat, it had to be, Peter was certain of that. So, with his heart in his throat, he did the first thing that came to mind: run.

He ran long and hard that day, grasping at his chest and feeling the wild beating of his heart as it tried to push its way out. He had returned home tired, hungry, lost in thought and too shaken to figure out if he should call Mr. Stark or not. May had greeted him like normal, but it was all a haze; the bed beckoned him, and he fell upon it like a world-wary man.

 _I'm so screwed._

Having gathered himself after finding peace with his bed, Peter had pulled himself up to change out of his sweaty clothes. Chucking his thick sweater to the side and pealing his t-shirt up and over his body, feeling it glide along his abdominal muscles and tense back. When a shiver tickled its way up his spine and cold sweat trickled down his neck. He twirled on the balls of his feet, shirt held protectively in front of him as he stared out the window. Someone was watching him.

"Umm, hello?" he said quietly, to no one in particular. Who would be listening anyways? His window was shut.

Even with his sharp eyesight he was unable to make out a shape, but nonetheless, there were eyes on him. Out there sat his predator and he had a feeling he knew who.

 _I was followed home!_

Swallowing, he turned; grabbed for another shirt to cover himself. This feeling of being watched was different from times of danger, where his instincts screamed at him to move; to fight. This wasn't the same flight-or-fight response that he could comprehend. This sort of feeling was intense enough to make him want to curl up into a small, little ball and drag blankets over himself to hide. Though hiding not because of fear but because of… bashfulness? Shame? Heat raced up his neck and over his face. He didn't understand himself, and he certainly didn't understand his body, either. Was this some sort of teenage hormonal change that was causing his body to react like this? Was he finally going crazy?

He crept forward and, hesitantly, drew the curtains, heart beating a staccato beat within his chest and ears, before he flung himself back in bed and did exactly like he had wished; drew the blankets high up and hide beneath.

Since that day, school had become a monstrous mission of self-control that he forced himself to persevere through. He was an honor student for a reason, after all. Most of his time was spent contemplating whether to actually call Mr. Stark or not. One short message; that was all it would take. Stark would come fly to his rescue; sweep him away and place him somewhere safe.

But nothing had happened. The weird man remained a stalker. Not that he tried to hide very much. It was more like watching a bad ninja movie at the edge of his vision all day long. An uncomfortable attention, but even so, nothing bad had happened; there was nothing to tell Stark. And he really didn't want to sound like a whiny teenager.

"I'm going crazy."

He forced his hands to relax. There was already enough scratched on his desk to begin with and if he let himself indulge in destructive tendencies, his super-strength would quickly erode away the top polish of the desk.

"What was that?" Ned wondered, leaning closer; all the while his hand was scratching away in his notebook, eyes fast on the whiteboard upfront.

"Nothing."

"Kay." Ned was already leaning back to his side of the table. Clearly today's lesson was more interesting than whatever was wrong with Peter. Part of Peter felt kind of insulted, but he was happy he was managing to keep himself together enough not to cause a scene in class.

Oh why, oh why, had he picked a seat so close to the window. He swore he could make out the dark red and black form flittering around the roof of a distant building. Now and then the reflective glint of something (read= binoculars) reflected back at him. The glint had been a constant for over a week, and with it, the inescapable feeling of being watched. _Closely._

By this point, it was a feeling he knew well. He was running sky high on endorphin. Fidgeting nervously with his school supplies and half-listening as the teacher droned on. Even Ned's amusing comments that would shoot his way sometime during class washed over him without much notice.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the desk. The clock ticking loudly in his ears. Five more minutes and he would be out of here. With luck he could sneak out one of the backdoors and disappear into the city before his stalker could follow him.

Two weeks ago, after having woken up from the gun wound, and getting the lecture of a lifetime from Mr. Stark, Peter had done what any teenager in the 21st century does when faced with a dilemma: he googled Deadpool. Sadly, nothing interesting came up, only something about a betting pool in a weird, dingy bar, but not a single article or picture about a sword-wielding man.

But even without anything on him Peter had no intentions of confronting the red stalkerish man. He could easily remember the sharpness of the two swords as they tor their way through a man's body. The light quirky tone from the mask; pleased and undisturbed by the craziness that went on around them as he had backed Peter against the wall.

The desk screeched in protest as his fingers dug in.

Ned was giving him a weird look now, but the bell had just rung and not a moment too late.

"Bye," he shouted over his shoulder as he slung his bag up and raced out the door; ignoring the startled yelps of fellow students whom he bumped aside.

Today's weather was too perfect. Peter just wanted to sling his way up to the top of the Empire State Building and relax. To stare down at the busy city life of the New Yorkers and maybe help some grannies cross the street. Small stuff. Easy stuff. The kind of things a friendly neighborhood spider does.

And not fight international crime syndicates or get himself in the cross-fire of rivaling gangs. Going up against the Vulture had been bad enough. He didn't need more of that kind of action. If he let himself stop for a moment and remember, he swore he could still taste the heavy air of the downed parking garage; could still feel the weight of it upon his back, squishing his legs and making each breath a living hell to take. There was something about the fear of it happening again that made him hesitant. Made him unable to swing his way into sticky situations without a care in the world; to throw himself at criminals with his speech of justice; because at the back of his mind, there was always going to be the heavy weight of the building upon him and the snide remarks of a man who sold alien weapons.

His phone pinged, and he looked down at it seeing the name Tony Stark on his lit-up screen. A message:

 _You coming over tonight, Spiderling? Bring pizza_

It was with much practice and with the help of his super-senses that he unlocked his phone and swiftly typed a reply; barely a glance being spared down.

 _What am I? A delivery service?_

The reply was instantaneous.

 _You know it. Spider Delivery_

He grimaced at the lame name.

 _Only if you promise to show me the robot you've been working on_

The following reply made him smile.

 _Sure, whatever. It's not like it's confidential or some shit like that_

Peter was pretty certain it was. Last time he had been over, Ms. Potts had been there lecturing Stark on proper time-management skills and something or another about bad press due to setbacks; all caused by the man himself because his priorities were in the wrong basket.

He stashed his phone and thought about what pizza to order. Stark ate pretty much anything—when he ate. The man was bad at that; worse now that the Avengers had split up. And it worried Peter. He wasn't used to worrying about people eating or not. His aunt yelled at him about nutritious intake, but, other than that, his friends and he weren't particularly picky; had never been.

Tony needed something substantial. Carnivore pizza it was.

He slowed his pace once he was a few blocks away from the school and could no longer feel the tingle of his spider-senses running its way up and down his spine. For the moment, no one was watching him; and he hoped that the day would continue so. Give him some time to do his duty as Spider-Man, then home delivery of pizza to Iron Man. That was a good plan, he though, smiling to himself.

Searching for a place to dump his backpack was always an annoying routine to go through. It wasn't like he could ever take it with him, swinging between buildings and fighting crime with his calculus book weighing him down. Sure, sounded fun. He could already imagine his school ID slipping out somehow and then all the questions, and he knew he would try to lie and that would just become a snow-balling mess.

It was best that the backpack was left elsewhere. Rather stolen than expose his identity. Mr. Stark had given him a run-through of what would happen if he did. His rather short-lived career as the friendly neighborhood spider would go up in smoke. He'd might have to become part of the government. Maybe SHIELD. Maybe something else. Though he knew little about it, he shuddered at the thought of giving up his life here. Of leaving May and Ned—and his school life. Sucky as it was sometimes, he preferred it. He still freaked out when the cops would pull May over for fast driving; he couldn't image himself handling it very well if he had to stand-up and take orders from high-up authority figures. Even with Mr. Stark it had taken him close to half a year to stop stuttering so damn much in the man's presence. Sadly, he still fidgeted nervously, and the man never let it well enough alone.

He stared long and hard at an area just behind a large smelly dumpster. Would his backpack survive?

"Why don't I hang on to it for you?"

Jumping sky-high was not a good enough word to describe the jump he found himself doing at those words. Because before he knew it, he was stuck—backpack and all—to the underside of an oddly protruding balcony on the fourth-floor. Brown eyes wide with fright stared down at the masked man. There was a long, silent pause in which the two of them stared at one another; Peter grasping his backpack like a safety net close to his chest and Deadpool tilting his head slowly to the side, body vibrating with barely contained excitement. Then, slowly as if not to scare Peter, the man lifted both his arms before him.

"Trust fall."

The squeak Peter let out was so unmanly that he wished for the ability to disappear. Deadpool just giggled, a high-pitched unnatural kind of giggle that vibrated his whole frame.

He hadn't felt the man. His spider-senses hadn't gone off like they were supposed to in threatening situations. Somehow or another he had been snuck up upon, again.

Peter swore to himself and looked around, worried that he might have been seen by more people. He was, after all, not wearing his suit. Creeping up along the balcony, he stared over the railing and realized the curtains on the other side were drawn tightly shut. He swung over and landed on his feet quietly and hunkered down against the wall.

 _Okay, you can do this. You're Spider-Man. No panicking, just deep breaths and don't panic!_

Stark had told him to call if anything happened. Told him not to engage no matter what. Did this count as one of those situations he was supposed to call in? Was this engaging? Were they gonna fight? And, OMG, the man still had swords on his back.

And maybe he was being a little childish by hiding on a balcony with his back pressed against the concrete half-wall, but he didn't know how to deal with the man down on the ground. He needed a plan. Too bad his brain had decided to go on vacation. It was one big empty hole right now.

"Come on, Peter, just think," he told himself, hands fisting into his messy hair as he tried to formulate some sort of escape plan. Anything to get away from this mess.

The feeling of the fine hairs on his arms rising abruptly, caused him to swear loudly and dive to the side, just as a pair of booted feet landed on the spot he had been at.

"Well, that was rude."

There was something ominous in those words. Not cold enough for Peter to go on the attack, but something there, just at the edge. It screamed dangerous and beware, and Peter was already hating himself for picking such a bad spot to hide. He hadn't thought the man could climb that fast.

He rolled against the hard, concrete floor of the balcony and used the momentum to swing his backpack up. It didn't catch the man, but it caused him to step back; to give enough room for Peter to twist and lunge.

One foot over the balcony and so close to sweet freedom when he was yanked back. Black gloved hands that closed like shackles on his wrist brought him right around and into a hard, defined chest. The smell of leather overwhelming his fine-tuned senses.

"Well, well, well. Here we are. Just you and me. A beautiful day and no one to interrupt us." One of the hands made its way around Peters waist, tightening just under his ribs and pushing them closer. "How about a date? I know this to die for burger shop just down the corner."

Peter strained against the grip on him; well aware of how it had gone last time when he let his strength get the better of him. He'd broken the man's wrist. Though, he was pretty certain he shouldn't feel bad about that. Not with how the man was acting

It would be considered in self-defense, wouldn't it?

"I think you have the wrong person, er… mister Deadpool," he tried, feeling foolish and not in his element.

"Mr. Deadpool? Wow, did you just make me feel old." The man flinched back, offended. "I'll have you know I was once sexiest man alive, thank you very much."

Peter blinked, only one word echoing through his head. "Once?"

"That's just insulting. Here I am asking you on a date and you think once being the sexiest man alive isn't enough. Well, let me tell you there would have been more if not because of fucking Francis! God, that ass."

Clearly the man needed a moment to himself. Peter was more than happy to give him however many moments he might need. Maybe, during that time he could pry these hands off of him, and—oh, my God—where was the man touching?

The elbow to the middle and the headbutt into the masked face was all really the spandex clad man's own fault. Peter could die of embarrassment. Had he just eep-ed?

Even so, hands were still—sadly—on him.

"Look, I can't—I can't go onadatewithyou," came rushing out of his mouth as he captured the trailing hands and twisted himself as much out of the man's grip as possible; then realized that this somehow still pressed them together tighter than what they had been previously and relented his hold with much unease.

Deadpool was blinking down at him, or at least Peter thought the man was blinking, it was difficult to tell with the mask on.

"Okay," the man drawled and then shifted his grip to get them back into what the man, presumably, thought was a better position. And Peter, honest to God, hoped the man was wearing a gun by his hip, but refused to look down to check. After a quiet moment of thinking, which Peter used to shift the man's hands higher up along his back as would be allowed, the man made a happy exhaling kind of noise and looked back down "No date," the man agreed. "Let's have dinner instead."

"Isn't that what a date is!" Peter heard himself shout, too startled by the man's thinking process to have time to filter his words.

The man hummed, completely unperturbed and asked himself, "How to have a not date date?"

"I'd still say no," Peter gritted out, eying the building wall on the other side.

 _I don't need to break his hand, just, you know, a finger and I could get to that wall. Maybe change into Spider-Man._ No, that wouldn't work. The man would clearly catch up to him by the time he changed outfits. He was, sadly, rather slow at that. _I should ask Mr. Stark for a faster changing option._

While daydreaming away, Peter could almost forget that he was indeed stuck in another man's embrace. A man who also seemed to be happily daydreaming with no intentions of letting go anytime soon.

 _Come on, Peter, just think. You're the smartest person in class for a reason._ Though that might not be true, Michelle had some scary perceptive traits.

"How about this, Mr. Deadpool—"

"Dear Satan's shitty ass, you've got to come up with a better way to call me."

"—you let me go, and I will do everything in my power to show you what a date isn't."

They had come to a standstill. "What a date isn't?" the man repeated slowly.

"Right."

"Fine. You better entertain me."

Rolling his eyes, Peter just nodded. "Definitely. It'll definitely entertain you."

The hands retracted slowly from him, trailing as they went; Peter shivered. Then, without letting himself think to much, he punched the man, hard, and grabbed his backpack. He was swinging over the balcony before he had time to draw his next breath and was belting his way out the small, smelly alley and onto a wider street.

"Fuck," he yelled; swirled to miss a taxi coming his way and pawed at his pocket for his phone. He came up empty. "May's gonna kill me; Mr. Starks' gonna kill me."

By the time he was three blocks away he dashed through a dingy opening and pulled himself up a broken wall to crawl along a lone standing support beam. Once he was high up enough, he stopped to breathe. His heart was in his throat still and thudding away at a million miles an hour. He needed more of a plan than to just running. Annoying as Deadpool was, the man had shown an amazing ability at finding Peter.

He jumped to the next building and shimmered down quickly. Eyes flicking back and forth, trying to avoid being seen. From there he jogged along the stretch of road and rounded a corner to continue down a more residential area, when in the next moment, he was skidding on the pavement and something hard and heavy bore down upon him. A half-finished scream left him as his breath was stolen and he found himself faced down, both of his arms pinned painfully to the ground.

Okay, so, his escape plan hadn't gone quite as well as he'd hoped. Meeting with the pavement hurt, it scraped against this hands and knees; messing up his clothes. For a long while, he just laid there, breathing. Each breath pushing against the solid weight along the length of his back, that twined around his legs.

A pleased laugh echoed in his ears. "Now, this is the kind of not a date date I can get in to."

Coughing against the dirty ground, Peter let out a slow groan as he tried gathering some of his spirit back; all the while ignoring the man atop of him. "Ow. Did you just tackle me?"

"…Maybe," the man drawled, breath sweeping over Peters ear in a not so unpleasant way.

His knees and hands felt sore and agitated from being scrapped against the pavement, and he laid there feeling his chest expand against the weight above him before he felt well enough to continue feeling affronted about the tackle.

"Are you nuts?"

"To be fair, you punched me. And it wasn't like a kitten kind of punch either. More like a I-fucked-the-wrong-mistress-and-now-you're-mad-at-me kind."

"I punched you because you're stalking me," Peter growled out and tried to turn against the grip that was holding him down. It was surprisingly strong.

"I don't stalk." The man sounded insulted; Peter rolled his eyes and slumped against the ground in something close to defeat. "I silently watch. From a distance. Intently"

"That's, like, the definition of stalking." His will wasn't really in it. He couldn't make himself sound strong or confident. The red dressed man was a lost cause. Peter was losing brain cells arguing.

He was mortified at the same time as pleased when the man flipped him over; definitely feeling a leg sneak between his own, oddly reminiscent of what had happened to him up against the alley wall two weeks ago. What was probably worse was the continuation of the traffic around them. No one stopped, and no one stared for longer than a second before hurrying on with their own lives. Apparently, this spandex clad man—who, yeah, still had swords on his back—was best to ignore. Peter wished he could do the same.

Sighing, he let his head ' _thunk_ ' into the ground, feeling immensely tired suddenly. "Whatever. Why are you following me? Are you here to kill me because I saw you kill those two men? If so, I promise not to say anything, though I should warn you Mr. Sta—Iron Man already knows, so it's not much of a secret. At least, I don't think. Was it supposed to be a secret?"

Even with the mask on, the look on the man's face could be read as half affronted and half surprised. It was kind of a funny look and Peter couldn't help himself but smile. "I would never," the man said, clearly going with insulted, though the high-pitched voice was anything but serious. "You think I want to kill you? Little cute Deadpool me? Why, how could you? Besides I don't keep secrets. I swear to you on my dear departed grandmother's grave—please, let her poor unfortunate soul rest in pieces—that those men were wanted dead. And, if you want me to clarify my shitty job for you, the government made me do it."

Blinking, Peter pushed his backpack away from him to give him more room to level himself up on his elbows. "If it wasn't illegal, why did we run from the cops? And why are you following me if you're not here to kill me?"

The man tilted his head, an action he seemed to do rather often. "I swear I'm talking to a wall here. Does the word 'date' not mean anything to you? I'm feeling like my hard work isn't being appreciated here."

"That's cause it's not," Peter managed to quip in.

"Besides, who wouldn't run from the no-fashion-sense-at-all, so called copsies; seriously, those uniforms are just insulting, and I wouldn't allow myself to be caught dead next to something that tasteless even if I had to cut my own hand off. Besides, those fuckers do paper processing like it's the stone-age. We'd never get out of their custody, which I am sooooo not dealing with. Screw the cops, and the government, and all official looking things. Where I work, the moment a job is done the money's already in your account. No talking to people, no double checking or signing shit. We're called freelancers for a reason. We're free to do whatever the fuck we want."

"Ugh, I don't think free in this sense means that kind of free," Peter pipped out, keeping his voice small so as not to attract to much of the man's clearly enraged attention. Maybe he should go an anger management course. "Um… Also, I've already rejected you."

The man's attention snapped back to him like a viper's bite. "Rejected."

"Um, yeah…"

Hands were suddenly in his hair, petting him, and Peter really wished he could throw the man into a building. "Oh no, little spider, I reject your rejection."

"You can't do that."

Clearly Peter had lost a few screws himself. Why was he even indulging this man's craziness? And why were they still laying on the pavement next to a busy street!

"Besides, I've already let the flying junkyard know. See, aren't I just a fabulous date?"

Peter's phone was being shoved in his face as the man was talking, just to realize that, indeed, right there in his chat window with Mr. Stark was extra lines that clearly weren't written by him.

"He's never gonna believe that's me, you know. I don't use that many emojis. Seriously, what are you even trying to say. _Gone on a date. Eat pizza yourself_." Peter ground his teeth together and tried to swipe his phone back. "I thought I told you that this isn't a date."

Deadpool chuckled and threw Peter's phone over his shoulder, letting it bounce with painful sounding cracks against the pavement; much to Peter's chagrin. "Is that so. I think this date is going splendidly so far. You up for some grub? That burger place is still close, and I bet your skinny ass would appreciate it. Might give you some muscle."

"I'll let you know I'm already plenty strong enough," Peter answered, still preoccupied by staring at his, most likely, scratched phone.

The man froze above him, and Peter felt the fine hairs on his arms and neck rise. "Oh." Peter swallowed at the excited tone of voice coming from the older man and pushed back against the pavement in hopes that it would swallow him up. The warm hand left his hair to trail over his neck and shoulder. "Now I'm interested. Plenty strong is how strong exactly?"

Peter opened his mouth, but only a garbled mesh of words came out. He was not liking his chances laying on the ground.

"May tells me you shouldn't exercise before a meal."

Where had that come from? He was just spewing nonsense.

"Funny, cause I've heard it does wonders for one's appetite."

"You'll get a stomach ache."

He should really shut up now.

"We're gathering an crowd," Peter told the man, hoping that his face was hidden enough not to be the front page on tomorrow's morning news.

Deadpool looked up, interested by the crowd. "Shall we give them a show?"

"No."

He choked on his own spit when a knee nudged just a little too high for comfort and finally threw that punch he had been thinking about. Sadly, it did not send the man flying into a building, but he was free and that was all that mattered. At least it was until Deadpool stood cackling like a madman a few yards away.

"The little spider finally shows his fangs. And here I started worrying that you would just take whatever I threw at you."

That kind of had been Peter's plan, in hopes that it would cause the man to lose interest. Guess he was failing at seeming uninteresting.

"We really don't need to fight. Um. I shouldn't fight. I'll so get expelled."

Deadpool took a stop forward and Peter hurriedly stepped one back, both hands held up in something close to surrender.

In afterthought, it might have been better for Peter to have put up a fight. Because by the time the building wall hit his back and the moment Deadpool situated himself before him again was relatively too short of a time for his poor synapses to align correctly and realize the situation he had once again landed himself in.

He desperately lashed out with his right hand, closing his eyes like a rookie fighter and just letting whatever happen, happen. It was still a horribly embarrassing defeat, and all recorded on phone cameras focused their direction from the bystanders who did absolutely nothing to help him out of this situation. Did they enjoy watching high school boys get back up against walls?

"Dear God, just kill me now," he said quietly to himself; face a flamed as he tried not to stare straight into a camera of someone his age who had stopped to film.

Deadpool was laughing in his ear; clearly enjoying the audience they had gathered. "You feeling more up for that hamburger place now, or should we keep going? I can go at you all day, little spider."

Peter couldn't stand another minute of this. Anymore and he would have to move to Nebraska and become a hermit. One date at a burger place was better than this kind of suffering. People were going to talk about it at school, he was certain of that.

Nothing was harder than nodding in defeat. He was too ashamed to bring his face up to stare into the masked eyes. Knowing he would see the pleased glint shining through.

Deadpool backed away from him rather quickly after that, something Peter hadn't been prepared for and almost tilted over.

"Hey, kid!" Deadpool yelled, advancing on the student taping their… conflict? "Either you delete it, or I delete you."

 _Oh, shoot. Not good_ , Peter thought as he saw the man reach for one of his swords. He had kind of forgotten that the day they had meet he had seen the man kill two men without a hint of remorse. Racing forward, Peter threw his arms around Deadpool and locked his legs. "Wait, what are you doing? You can't just attack civilians."

Peter wasn't looking. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his grip tightened as the seconds ticked by. Then, arms wound around him, and he felt a cheek press against the top of his head. "Hey, brat! Be fast and snap away, this moment needs to be memorialized."

Freezing in place, Peter realized he had been had! There was now audible clicking of a camera shutter. "What the—Ugh! I was worried and you, and you…" He had nothing to really say. He stomped his foot and wrenched out of the hold.

Deadpool was ignoring him, having gone to fetch the camera of a shaking tourist looking person. "This is going in to my album of happy moments."

A buzz from his phone had Peter blinking down at where it laid faced down some distance away. And, using the opportunity now that Deadpool was preoccupied he picked it up and saw a message from Mr. Stark.

 _Answer your phone, kid!_

 _Don't tell me that f_ — _still around_

 _Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you_

Sweet relief. Peter sunk to the pavement, ignoring the grit and dirt and just clung to his phone. Mr. Stark was on his way. Right after that thought, he thought, _Mr. Stark is never gonna let me outside again._

He turned to look at the man who was still cradling a camera to his chest, hoping small pleased hops up and down; Peter had a feeling that whoever owned the camera was not going to get it back. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought about it, and closed it again feeling confused. It was the perfect opportunity to run, but Mr. Stark was on his way. Would it be considered rude? Did he care? Oh, God, how he just wanted to go home and fall into May's lap and never move again. He was too young for this.

The decision was taken from him by the high-powered whine of repulsors, and a figure in red and gold shot down from the sky at max velocity. Peter panicked for a moment, thinking that if the man didn't pull up soon, there would be a cradle impact and the city of Queens would not take kindly to that. Peter wouldn't take kindly to that either.

While he huddled low to the ground and covered his head, chanting, "I'm going to die." And "I should have continued staying home." Deadpool tilted his head up, a Cheshire-like grin on his face, that was was—thankfully—hidden by his mask.

—V—V—

"The junkyard has finally come to visit." His swords slid smoothly from their holds, glittering dangerously in the brightly lit street he was standing on. "Too bad, I'm not much for sharing my dates, though. We could have had so much fun otherwise."

Iron Man arched smoothly along the ground, speed not dipping the slightest as he headed straight for the enemy, one grinning; the other cursing loudly to his AI. There was no time to think for either of them, one moment they were apart, the next, metal swords and a soft leather-covered body slide against aluminum-coated alloy armor and they were off. Deadpool having hooked one of his swords into the cracks and nooks of the thigh plate and using his left leg, which was wrapped tightly around a knee, to balance himself, all the while, his fingers on the now empty left had tried to pry the face plate open.

"We'll see how immortal you are when I drop you from 500 meters. Bet you're not gonna like that," Iron Man said, his voice calm and cool through the speaker system of his suit. "Deserve it for picking on my kid. And don't think I didn't see that video being streamed of you pinning him to the ground."

Deadpool giggled and felt pleased as his other sword found purchase on something that soft. "My mother always told me I had weird ways of showing my affection."

"Fuck you!"

"Hmm… Not as much as you'll be fucked when I slide my sword through this." He paused to give the junkyard time to realize where his sword was situated. "I hope you don't need this."

"Don't you fucking dare."

"There we go with the fucking again."

"Oh, you're gonna be fucked alright. Right through the spire of the Empire State Building."

"No need to be a sore loser. You can rest in peace knowing I will be right there next to the kid, consoling him for his loss all the way."

One of the thrustors stopped, and Iron Man let the momentum tilt them over as he gripped a hold of the skin-tight uniform of the mercenary. "That's it. You're going down."

Then, there was only wind in their ears and the spinning-turnover of the ground and sky flying passed.

—V—V—

The loud honking of a car had Peter jerk his head up, his ears and head still covered by his arms. Happy was staring at him unimpressed from the driver's seat. "Get in, kid," he grunted and jerked to the back seat.

Peter looked about widely. There was no sign of either Mr. Stark or… Mr. Deadpool…

"Okay." He unfolded slowly, thankful that there was no more crowd standing around staring at him.

"Anytime this century."

He quickened his pace, albeit still going rather slow. "Where is Mr. Stark?"

Happy grunted clearly irate. "If I knew that, maybe I wouldn't be having to pick you up. Buckle-up, kid; I don't care if you're Super-Man or even Thor for that case. You in my car you buckle up."

"Yes, sir."

Like all other times when Happy would pick him up, the car-ride was quiet. "Um, are we going to the Tower?"

"Yup," the man answered popping his "p" and for the most part ignoring Peter like he usually did.

Peter sighed and leaned back against the leather seat, the smell for once clean and new, and not the gunpowder-y, musky smell of Deadpool. He was certain he preferred the cars. At least that's what he told himself before he could think too much on it.

"Do you think they'll be fine?"

Happy flicked his sunglasses down and looked over the top of the frames at him. "Who?"

"Mr. Stark and Mr. Deadpool."

They blinked at each other for a long moment before the car behind them honked loud and long and Happy had to return his attention to the road. "That the man who shot you two weeks ago?"

Surprised, Peter quickly shook his head even if he couldn't be seen. "No! That was these two other men who I caught snatching a purse. Deadpool sort of… helped me…"

The man didn't look like he believed him. Peter didn't care, he was tired.

"Can we order pizza?"

"Fine, what do you want?"

"Carnivore."

"That doesn't sound like your usual kind," the man said. Maybe he was worried after all.

"I guess I just feel like meat today."

—V—V—

When Mr. Stark came back to the Tower that night, he came home with a loud bang. His metal creaked and cracked, and Peter could hear him swear even from the floor above the workshop.

He raced down the stairs, begging FRIDAY to open the door that would lead him through into the room Mr. Stark was at. When he burst through, he did so in spider-style, jumping up and over the railing and landing lightly on the cold metal floor, toes curling uncomfortably at that.

"Mr. Stark, you're alright!"

The man was still in his armor, yanking at one side of it that looked like it was clamped uncomfortably tight against his left bicep. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

The man looked windswept and wild and not at all like his usual put-together self. He could have been just another face in the crowd as he was right now. Though, albeit still with an air of a king about him. Peter smiled at that, please to see his mentor doing well.

"Do you need help?"

Dark brown eyes narrowed on him, and Peter tried to smile innocently. Sure, he really wanted to touch the armor, but he also wanted to help Mr. Stark.

"Fine, grab that side."

Together getting the armor off went relatively easy, that might have been because of Peter's unnatural strength. Though, now that he looked closer at the armor, he swore he could make out a handprint at the rib part of the chest plate. He blinked at it until it disappeared out of his view, hidden away until his mentor would take it out for repair.

"Is Mr. Deadpool enhanced like me?"

"First, kid," Mr. Stark started, throwing his right gauntlet at a bench. "Don't ever call that man mister. Secondly, no."

Frowning, Peter looked towards where the dented armor had disappeared to. "But he dented your armor."

"Look, don't worry about it. There are people like you who gain super-strength through some sort of enhancing drug, and then, there are people like Deadpool, who just don't know how to fucking follow the rules of the universe and does things his own way. There is nothing special about that man except for his stupidity."

The man was annoyed, but passed that, Peter thought the man probably respected the mercenary, if maybe just a little.

"I hope I beat it into his thick skull to stay away from you. Next time, you call, you hear me?"

He nodded enthusiastically, more than happy to never go through a repeat of the past week. "Loud and clear."

"Good. Now is that pizza I smell?"

—V—V—

Even though Peter said he would call him. He wasn't sure if the bag of burgers on his doorstep when he came home that night counted as stalking. After all, he hadn't technically been home.

Stooping down, he picked the bag up, pleased to find there being no pickles on any of the three burgers inside.

He threw the door wide-open; still smiling. "May, I got dinner."

He got all of three seconds to enjoy the thought of free food, until he saw who sat comfortably next to May on the sofa.

"Hey, honey," May said happily, apparently unbothered by the man next to her.

"Welcome home, kid. I hope you don't mind, I made myself at home." The man stretched out his legs leisurely, still dressed in red leather and with blue crocs covering his dirty white socked feet.

He almost fainted. And part of him wish he had.

Could he still call Mr. Stark if May was the one who had invited the man?


End file.
